Shuck-Face
by Thomas Edison
Summary: Minho and Thomas get separated in the maze. When Thomas returns without Minho, he realizes that he truly needs and wants Minho. Cheesy. Happy Ending. Smut-M for later chpaters. Fluff until then. Minho x Thomas
1. Chapter 1

Thomas! Keep running! Don't look back!" Minho screamed over his shoulder at Thomas, who was trying his best to stay on his toes and not fall onto his face. It happened all too quickly. One minute Minho and Thomas were sitting with their backs against the wall of the maze casually munching on some sandwiches and laughing, when the emclick-click-click /emsounds from a griever sounded from the left. They both froze and turned to look at one another. Minho nodded and quietly scrambled to his feet as to not attract any unwanted attention. He collected their food and water from the ground with Thomas following suit and stuffed it inside his backpack, slinging it over his shoulders. As soon as the Asian had the thing on his back, metal clanking called from behind the pair which alerted both Runners. Thomas looked over and shivered from head to toe. The Griever's body oozed with weird slime as it started down the long path towards the Runners, metal arms slinging out to grab anything. Both males took off forward with Minho leading and Thomas quick on his heels. They ran and ran for what felt like hours to Thomas. His breath ragged. His hair stuck to his forehead due to the gallons of sweat he was producing. His arms and legs were sore. And by the looks of it, Minho felt the same, except his hair still looked perfect as ever.

Judging by the sounds behind him, the griever was still hot on their heels. The sun was going to set in an hour. They needed to lose this thing. The pair approached a section that branched two ways. Right and left. No forward. It looked like the letter 'T'. Thomas wanted to desperately ask Minho where to go-which way-, but nothing would come out from his throat. Minho being the faster of the two darted right. Thomas was about to turn right when the Griever shot forward. It slammed into the wall, blocking Thomas from following the Asian. With moves like lightning, Thomas changed directions and darted to the left with the griever, regaining it's senses and following after the two. Thomas sped up-if that were possible-and ran. He ran like no tomorrow. The only thing keeping him going was the glimmer of hope that Minho was safe, got away, or that he made it back to the Glade safe and sound. During this terrifying run, Thomas couldn't help but think about his running partner. The way the male looked at Thomas with such admiration. It made Thomas's heart flutter and beat loudly. Thomas loved the way Minho would smile at him. His pearly whites shining when he did. Thomas loved being around Minho. The Keeper always knew how to lift Thomas up when he was down or make him laugh more when he was on the verge of tears from already laughing too much. Thomas could remember the first time he saw the senior Runner. A heat rose to his cheeks when the Asian smirked at Thomas. He felt like Minho could see right through him-see everything that Thomas thought about. That Minho could read his thoughts.

Thomas was too wrapped up in running and thinking about a certain male to notice that a patch of ivy vines had fallen to the ground. The vines started up from the very top of the wall to the bottom. Several vines were strung together on the ground and in the air. Thomas ended up tripping over one. He heard the griever make a sound from behind. It sounded like a...laugh. Thomas tried to wiggle his foot free, but it hurt to move it in any way. He gasped, looking back only to find the griever right there only a couple of feet from him. He scrambled on the ground to get away. The griever in it's haste to get closer moved in towards the vines, it's arms reaching out to claw at the human. Thomas's life flashed before his eyes in that split second. He felt claws slash at his thighs, legs, and lower chest. One even got to his arm and it sliced the skin open. Everywhere the griever grabbed it let Thomas's clothes torn and his skin bloodied and bruised. The male managed to gain leverage with his arms and use the last bit of strength he had left in him and push back, trying to scramble away. The griever lunged forward and Thomas closed his eyes and held his arms up in defense, getting ready for the pain, but-nothing happened. Horrible and choked sounds rippled through the air. Thomas peeled his eyes open and put his arms down. The griever was caught up in the vines, struggling and lunging in every directions.

A single vine had wrapped itself securely around the creature's neck-or what Thomas thinks is it's neck-, suffocating it. The monster convulsed, it's arms wriggling and snapping at the air. Sometimes they would reach for Thomas like he was the source of it. The male let out a big gulp of air and flopped to the ground, letting himself catch his breath. He jumped and gasped when the griever let out a loud and painful scream. Thomas scrambled back and slowly got to his feet, wincing as he applied pressure to his left foot. He held onto the wall and looked to the sky then to his watch. Thirty minutes. That long to figure out where he was and run home with an injured foot. Thomas limped forward, drowning out the sounds emanating from the dying creature behind him. br /br /Time passed and Thomas didn't think he was gonna make it until he turned a corner and found the large, concrete door to the maze. The Glade. People were milling around talking to one another. He didn't see Minho in the crowd. His heart dropped which caused him to stop walking. If Minho wasn't there-if he hadn't made it back yet-if another griever had gotten to him, Thomas didn't want to go back. He didn't want to live without the Keeper. Sure, he had Chuck, Newt, Alby, Gally, and the other Gladers to talk to, but no one understood him like Minho.

Chuck, who was in the front of the talking crowd, spotted Thomas first and yelled,"Look! It's Thomas!" Everyone turned and gestured with arms for him to hurry. They all called and beckoned for him to hurry before the walls closed in on him. Thomas limped towards the mass of people and felt tears begin to form. He didn't see the Keeper of the Runners. Finally, Thomas stepped through the doors and was immediately pulled into several hugs by faceless people. He didn't care who they were. None of them were Minho. br /br /He was bloodied, bruised, tired, beaten, and broken. All he wanted to do was collapse and see a certain Asian. Newt suddenly was next to him, clasping him on the shoulder and trying to look Thomas in the eyes. "Hey! Slim it! I need to talk to Thomas for a second!"

Everyone quieted. Newt sighed and sarcastically said,"Thank you. Now. Thomas, what happened? What did you see? Did a griever fin-..." Newt's question suddenly didn't reach Thomas's ears. His eyes drooped, threatening to close-to push him into a state of dream-to make him collapse right there and sleep in front of the others. Something out of the corner of Thomas's eye caught his attention. A figure. A figure that had just ran in from the maze. The figure pushed through the crowd finally coming to stand right in front of Newt, Chuck, and Thomas. But, before Thomas could register who it was he literally buckled, his legs gave out and he fell to the floor in exhaustion. Newt caught him and slowly lowered him the ground. "Tommy?! Tommy, what's wrong? Talk to me! Slim it! Were you stung? Get the Med-Jacks!" The blonde yelled, starting to check him out while someone ran through the crowd.

The figure, Newt, and everyone else around Thomas slowly stared to fade into darkness as he laid there in Newt's arms while the sun shone down on the Glade. He closed his eyes and sighed, feeling himself start to slip. As his senses faded the last thing he heard was this. A soft, deep, calming voice speaking to him. "Damn it, shuck-face."


	2. Chapter 2

Grievers. Screams. Blood.

These images made Thomas jolt into an upright position, gasping for air that he desperately needed in his chest. Hands grabbed at him from all around and various voices spoke in different pitches and tones his ear-all of them mixing together. Faces were every where, making him shudder and sweat in confusion. "Slim it!" A single, British voice called out over the others, making everything and everyone silent in the process. It was Newt, who was currently leaning in towards Thomas's face. Panting and slowly regaining his breathing, Thomas wet his lips, nodding to Newt as a silent thank you.

The blonde just coughed lightly to clear his throat and told everyone to get out, so he could talk to Thomas alone. When everyone was out except for Thomas and Newt, the older boy plopped down next to Thomas, taking the weight off his aching limp. "Scared the lot of us, didn't you, Thomas?" He shook his head and grinned. Newt was using his authoritative voice. One he uses to talk to the other gladers, not the one he usually uses with Thomas. He massaged his ankle for a second, then looked up at Thomas with soft eyes. "What happened back there, Tommy?" He asked in a concerned and soothing tone.

The brunette gulped suddenly remembering everything that had happened in the maze. How scared he was when he got separated from Minho. How afraid he was when the Griever lunged at him only to be pulled back by a couple of vines. Or how terrified he felt when he crossed the threshold of the Glade and not seeing Minho waiting there with open arms. All of the memories came back, tugging at his heart and filling him with sadness.

Minho. Thomas thought. The Asian was the only person he'd truly connected with in the Glade besides Newt or Chuck and now-was he-gone? Thomas sighed, realizing he was making the Brit wait. "I don't know." He shrugged, messing with the thin blanket over his legs. "Minho and me-" It even pained him to say the male's name. He shivered and continued, pushing his worries aside. "We stopped to eat lunch and a Griever...it sprung out of no where. It chased us. Somehow-we were separated. And-" Thomas was cut off by someone bursting into the room. A small round boy was panting and scrambling for words. It was Chuck. Boy, the kid could suck in some air. "Newt! They're back. The Runners. Oh, hey, Thomas!" Chuck smiles at the both of them.

Thomas wasn't listening though.

Runners.

Minho.

That was all Thomas needed to spring up from the bed and to his feet, wobbling a little as he frantically searched for his shoes. "Whoa-Tommy. Wait. Calm down. Don't strain yourself. I'd rather not have to get-" Newt's words didn't reach Thomas because he was already bolting past the blonde and Chuck, bounding down the stairs and out the door of the Homestead. His eyes focused on the doors of the Maze where he saw a massive crowd, lingering and laughing. Taking off in a fast sprint, Thomas steadied his breathing and clenched his fists. His body ached and begged him to stop moving and rest, but he didn't care. Minho could be over there. The crowd grew closer as his feet glided over the grass, his pace not letting up. Finally, he reached the group of Gladers and pushed them aside, weaving through the small group. Spotting five Runners, all whom of which weren't Minho, Thomas stood there, his heart sinking.

He shouldn't have left Minho. Another Griever must have gotten to him. Killed him. Drug him back to their Griever hole-where ever it was. Or worse. Left him for dead. To scream out endlessly for Thomas or someone-anyone. Fear crept inside Thomas. And then when all sense of hope that Minho would return-

"Thomas?" Someone said, causing the male in question to whip his head around. The pure form of perfection was standing there with his hair perfect and skin free from sweat. His eyes squinted against the sun, but were focused on solely Thomas. His buff arms hanged loosely at his sides. Minho was there, standing in the flesh. Breathing. Thomas sighed heavily. A sense of relief washed over him as he slowly walks over to the Keeper, sensing that the crowd was starting to disperse for dinner and leaving the two Runners to themselves.

"Minho." Thomas breathed, loving the way the male's name rolled off his tongue. Suddenly, Minho reached forward and yanked Thomas into a tight hug, squeezing the life and breath out of him, but he gladly returned it just as tight. "Hey, Shuck-face." Minho mummers with a lump in his throat. This made Thomas laugh and grin.

Minho pulled back slightly, hands still clenching Thomas's arms, but his face was stern and serious. "Don't you ever do that again, Greenie. You hear me? Ever. I don't care /what/ happens. Don't ever shuckin' do that again. Not without me." Minho ordered sternly, making Thomas nod. "Good that." Thomas says as the Asian softens his shoulders and sighs. Thomas grins, his stomach making itself noticeable with a loud rumble.

Minho laughs upon hearing it and clasps Thomas tightly on the shoulder. "Wanna get some food, shank?"


End file.
